Her Lips Are Sweet
by BaddestBabesat221BBakerStreet
Summary: "You shouldn't let anyone make you feel like you don't matter, Molly." John Watson notices for perhaps the first time that Molly Hooper is actually quite lovely. John/Molly oneshot.


Her Lips Are Sweet

"Where are my soil samples?"

Molly looks up from the files she's been editing to meet the eye of the consulting detective. The pathologist's stomach drops as Sherlock's steely grey eyes pierce her own.

"Sorry?" Molly finally stammers.

Sherlock sighs irritably "My soil samples which I left upon this desk scarcely an hour ago have mysteriously vanished. I most certainly did not move them, no one else has been around to interfere, and I very highly doubt that they sprouted legs and exited on their own accord; therefore, the only remaining person who could be responsible for such a disappearance would be our very own Molly Hooper." Sherlock cocks an eyebrow, and eyes the young woman expectantly.

Sherlock is of course correct; no one besides himself, John, and Molly had had access to the lab within the previous couple of hours. It was a Saturday night, and all the employees of St. Bart's morgue had families to be with, or friends to see, or dates to be on. All the employees except Molly Hooper.

Molly quivers like a leaf under Sherlock's intense glare. John can practically feel her discomfort from his seat in the corner of the lab.

"Just give it a break, Sherlock," John says. "It's been a long day."

Sherlock ignores him, his gaze never faltering from Molly. "Those soil samples are crucial to a case of the utmost national importance. I scoured the city for three hours this afternoon in pursuit of them. A man's alibi depends on those samples. Now tell me: _where are they?"_

Molly swallows hard. John notices her fidgeting nervously, her fingers fluttering against the pockets of her starchy lab coat like little birds fighting against their cage.

"Well," She quietly starts, breaking Sherlock's intense stare to look fearfully at her feet. "I was tidying the place up a bit when you and John stepped out for your DNA results, and I saw several little bags of dirt, and I assumed that they had been left by an intern or something, and since they didn't look to be of much importance, I might've, well, tossed them in the bin."

Sherlock finally turns away from the pathologist. "Of course." He says quietly.

Molly looks up at him once more. "Sorry?"

Sherlock stands up from his seat at the lab table, and walks over to Molly. "Of course," he states cooly, "I should've expected as much from someone so _plain."_ Sherlock takes a step nearer, so that he is face to face with the woman. John can hear the soft gasp as Molly's breath catches. "Plain appearance, plain of thought, plain of intellect." Sherlock pauses, allowing his words to sink like daggers into Molly's pale flesh. "Just _plain_."

Molly is mortified. Her cheeks flush fiery crimson, and she ducks her head, ashamed. John pities her, and for a moment he hates his flatmate for being so senselessly nasty.

Molly lingers on a moment, stunned in her agonizing embarrassment, before flying from the room, and into the halls of the hospital.

John scowls at the consulting detective. "You've done it now, you git."

Sherlock shrugs. "I was merely being honest." He says simply.

John sighs, exasperated. "No," he purses his lips. "You were being cruel." John stands up, and begins heading for the door.

"And where are you going?" Sherlock asks.

John pauses at the door. He turns coldly to Sherlock. "I'm going to go clean up your mess. Just like I'm always cleaning up your messes." John storms out of the lab in pursuit of Molly.

He wanders down the deserted halls for several minutes, until finally, just as he's about to give up his search, John hears a quiet sniffling from inside the broom closet. He opens the door to the small room and sees Molly huddled in the corner, sitting between a wash bucket and an industrial sized container of floor cleaner. She sits crouched with her arms wrapped around her legs, and her face is streaked with hot tears. John notices that she's much smaller than he had ever realized, and to see her curled up in the corner reminds him of a broken china doll.

Molly notices John's sudden presence, and makes an effort to compose herself. "Oh, h-hello," She murmurs.

John smiles. "Hello," He moves the wash bucket aside, and takes a seat beside the shaking pathologist. "I'm sorry," he says after a moment.

Molly shakes her head. "It isn't your fault. It isn't even his fault. He just speaks the truth, that's all." She pauses. "It is true, after all." Her voice is hardly a whisper.

"It bloody well isn't true!" John exclaims suddenly, seizing Molly's hand. Molly looks at him, surprised, and then the two of them stare at their joined hands for a moment before John realizes what he's done, and releases his grip. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he says. "It's just that it makes me so_ angry_ how he treats people, how he treats his _friends_ for God's sake! I just want to knock him over the head sometimes, I really do."

Molly laughs quietly. "I know, John. And it's all right, truly. I'm quite used to it actually."

"But that's the thing!" John groans. "You shouldn't be used to it, you shouldn't _have _to be used to it. It really isn't true you know. About, you know, being plain. It isn't true." Molly blushes profusely, and it's clear that she's having a hard time accepting the compliment. _But it was true_, John thinks. Molly isn't plain at all. John notices for perhaps the first time that Molly Hooper is actually quite lovely.

"It's all right, John. It's all right," Molly smiles slightly. A moment passes in still silence, neither Molly nor John knowing what to say.

Finally, John breaks the silence. "You shouldn't let anyone make you feel like you don't matter, Molly," he takes her small hand, softly this time. "You do matter, Molly. You do." John looks into Molly's eyes with a quiet intensity. Her eyelashes quiver under the weight of his gaze. John glances at her pink lips. _They look soft_, he thinks. John suddenly wonders what that small mouth would feel like against his own mouth.

Before he fully realizes what he's doing, John finds himself leaning into Molly Hooper, slowly drawing nearer and nearer until he can feel her shallow breath against his skin. In a final leap of faith, John closes the gap between himself and Molly, and presses his mouth firmly upon hers. Her lips are sweet. She kisses John uncertainly to begin with, but gradually grows more secure as the kiss advances. John kisses Molly softly, but purposefully. He realizes that here, with Molly Hooper, in the broom closet of St. Bart's, he feels calmer than he was in a very long while.

After a few moments, John pulls back slowly, and places a quick kiss on Molly's forehead. Molly rests her head on John's shoulder, and for a while they both forget about harsh words, or dead bodies, or solving crimes. For a while, it's just John Watson and Molly Hooper, and everything is _good._


End file.
